The HP Epilogue Files
by White Water Runs Red
Summary: Two one-shots telling about Victoire and Roxanne Weasley's first days at Hogwarts.
1. Victoire, Gryffindor, & Shooting Stars

**Disclaimer: **Yes, it's true: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER AT ALL! Most unfortunate, I know...Well then, carry on. R&R

A/N: If you're reading this...please review! :) That's all.

* * *

**Victoire POV **

In my family, the pressure is always on. The pressure to do well, to succeed, to be in Gryffindor...

At the tender age of eleven, when the letter came, naturally, the entire Weasley clan was pleased. At least I hadn't turned out to be a Squib, as Teddy had been so certain I would be. But now, there was a whole new problem.

Even though Teddy wasn't _officially _part of the family, he was Uncle Harry's godson, which was good enough for everybody else. It wasn't that I resented him—he and I had been best mates since our days in diapers—it was that him getting to go to Hogwarts _first, _meant that it was _him_ and not I, who set the standard for the Weasley grandchildren.

Ever since his Sorting, our relatives had basically decided that every last Weasley grandchild _must _get into Gryffindor, and that nothing else would be acceptable. Well, I suppose it would've been expected anyway—our entire family's in Gryffindor—but the fact that even _Teddy's _in it, is somewhat disconcerting. I mean, his mother _was _in Hufflepuff, so it's not like he _had _to be a Gryffindor by some strict family rule, or anything. However, it is _completely different _for me.

Just the other day, Uncle Ron was saying that Mum and Dad had agreed to disinherit me if I didn't get into Gryffindor as well. The prospect of it was absolutely _terrifying. _Aunt Hermione had assured me that Uncle Ron was only joking, yet I couldn't be so sure. What if something awful happened, and I was Sorted into another House? I think I'd die if the Sorting Hat placed me in Slytherin. Everyone knows that's the House that all those Death Eaters—and You-Know-Who himself, I've heard—were in. If I got Sorted there...I don't even want to _think _about what would happen.

Why, oh why, couldn't Dominique and I have been twins? Then I at least wouldn't have to go through this by myself. But, no. Sadly, Dominique was a good three years younger than me, and so she wouldn't be attending Hogwarts until I was a fourth year. Life is so cruel.

Most unfortunately, none of my extended family had had any kids near my age, either. Well, there was Molly, Uncle Percy's daughter, but even _she _was a year younger than Dominique. And after Molly, the others kept getting younger and younger. In fact, little Hugo, who was the baby of the family, was only three. By the time he and Lily were first years—or even by the time Lucy was—I'd've already graduated. It simply _was not_ fair. Everybody else had somebody either at or close to their age, but all I had was Teddy—who was two years older than me—and Dominique, who, again, would not be coming to Hogwarts for another three years. So far, things were just not going well for me.

"Oh!" Grandmum jumped up from her seat, "It's time! Hurry, now, dear, the train leaves at exactly eleven!" Teddy was ahead of me, levitating my trunk, and I was running behind him carrying Erwig—my owl—in tow. I was already wearing my Hogwarts robes, since I didn't know precisely when you were expected to change into them, and I followed Mum, Dad, and the rest of our lot to Platform 9¾, rushing all the way.

There to see me and Teddy off were—of course—Mum, Dad, and Dominique, followed in quick recession by Grandmum, Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Percy, the latter two of whom I was sure were there to lecture me some more before we boarded the train. "Don't forget to write!" Aunt Hermione was saying. "Listen to all of your teachers!" Uncle Percy was reminding me for the hundredth time that day. " 'ave fun!" Mum called in her French accent. "Come on," Teddy said, grabbing my wrist, "Before Uncle Percy goes into his monologue about broomstick safety procedures." Again, even though he wasn't blood-related to a single one of us, Teddy still called the same people "Aunt" and "Uncle" that I did, with the exception of my parents, whom he also addressed under those titles.

"Est que le 'Ogwarts Express? (Is that the Hogwarts Express?)" My sister, Dominique, tugged on the bottom of Grandmum's robes. "Excuse me?" Unlike me, French was Dominique's first—and at the time, _only_—language. Mum didn't even look up. "Oui.(Yes)"

"Come on!" Teddy repeated. Waving off whatever Uncle Percy had just said, Teddy yelled, "Yeah, I'll help Victoire load her stuff!" He grabbed my wrist again, and dragged me behind him onto the Hogwarts Express. " 'Bye!" He shouted to the general public behind him.

The doors closed behind us, and suddenly there were two guys standing in front of us, with extremely smug looks on their faces. At once, they burst into laughter. "Hahaha! Sooo, Teddy, care to introduce us to your new girlfriend?" "Veela, by the looks of it?" The second one said to the first. "Oooh..." the first one chortled. "Those are_ alll-ways_ the most dangerous types." "Wha'd ya ge'cha self into, Ted?"

I could feel the blood rise into my cheeks. I. was. so. mad. "I am _not _a VEELA!" I shouted. The first one shared another mischievous look with the second, and they both burst into laughter again. "Ooo-kay...so you're not a Veela," the second one finished his sentence for him. "But you're definitely not denying that you're Ted's _girlfriend_?" He said the word the way someone says the punch line of a joke.

I gritted my teeth. "N-no, she's not—" But before Teddy could finish explaining, I _flew. off. the handle. _"AARGH! Why, you complete _arseholes! _I—WOULD—_NEVER—_DATE—'TED'!" And with that, I stormed off into the nearest compartment without another word.

Four pairs of eyes stared up at me as I entered, slamming the door behind me. It had never occurred to me that there might actually be other people _in _this compartment. Suddenly, I was red in the face all over again, but for a completely different reason. I was embarrassed. I almost immediately realized how rude it must make me seem to just come into some random compartment, and slam the door. "Er—I'm—uh—Sorry!" I turned to leave.

A girl with straggly hair looked up from her copy of _The Quibbler. _I knew it by name, seeing as Aunt Luna—who, in actuality, isn't really my aunt—was the editor, but I had never read it. "You can stay." She said simply. Then, as though it were an afterthought, she added, "If you want to." I was floored. I couldn't believe it. _Well..._I thought, _Anybody who reads _The Quibbler _can't really be all that bad a person..._"Um...okay?" It sounded like a question, but I sat down.

The straggly-haired girl was not the only one reading. All three of the girls, as well as the only boy, all had either a magazine or a newspaper in their hands. I guessed that none of them knew each other, since presumably, when you know the people in your compartment, you talk to them.

The girl next to the first one was wearing an expression of deep contempt that made her look as though she was routinely angry. She had opened to a certain page of _The Daily Prophet _that I couldn't see the inside of from my side. _It just figures that the one reading _The Daily Prophet _is the one glaring at me. _Even though Aunt Ginny sometimes published a Quidditch article or two in there, the newspaper was still pretty annoying.

The boy was browsing through _Which Broomstick?_, while the final girl, who actually looked quite a good bit like him, was perusing the latest _Witch Weekly. _"So...um..."

The Quibbler girl looked up again. "Oh." She said, as though I had just said the most intelligent thing in the world, and it was making sense to her for the first time. "I just realized, we haven't introduced ourselves." She said this in the way that one would say "I just realized that two plus two equals four."

My face reddened further. "Oh! Um! Yes! I'm—!" She smiled kindly. "...Victoire Weasley." I finished lamely. "Hello." She smiled again. "I'm Corina Corner." "Corner?" I repeated. The name rang a bell, but I couldn't think why. "Yes. Perhaps you were thinking of my father, Professor Corner?" It hit me like a sack of bricks. "The headmaster!" It was less of a question than an exclamation. She smiled a third time. "Yes. And this," she said, pointing to the _Daily Prophet_ reader, "Is my socially-challenged friend, Margaret Smith."

At the sound of her name, Margaret briefly looked up from her newspaper, but it was so quick I could hardly be sure it had really happened. The final girl at last glanced up over her copy of _Witch Weekly_, and said, in a voice very far from what I'd imagined she'd sound like, "Hm. There's a new girl in our compartment, Margaret." Margaret simply raised her eyebrows at the girl's somewhat late realization before returning to the _Prophet_.

"So, who are you?" "Do we _care_ who she is?" Margaret snapped. Unperturbed, the girl asked again: "What's your name?" "Victoire Weasley." The response was so automatic, if I hadn't felt my lips move to form the words, I would've thought someone else had spoken.

The girl considered this for a second, before saying: "I see. My name is Mirabelle Goldstein. My father is the Charms Master at Hogwarts. This is my brother—" "Will Goldstein." the boy next to her finished for her. "Do you like Quidditch?" He asked enthusiastically. "Hhn?" This was a surprise. "Um, yes. Why?" Leaning over his sister, Will showed me a page in _Which Broomstick? _that I guessed was supposed to be really significant or something.

"Isn't this the same kind of broom that Oliver Wood of Puddlemere United rode in the last Quidditch World Cup?" My mind struck a blank. "Uh, yeah, I think so." I said, faking as much enthusiasm as I could.

Don't get me wrong; I am a _huge _Quidditch fan, and the last time Uncle Ron took me and Teddy to a Quidditch match, (Chudley Cannons vs. Fitchburg Finches) I was cheering so loud that people in the audience behind us were actually arguing over whether or not to tell me to _kindly shut up, _so they could hear the commentator, and perhaps figure out _how the game was going. _(and, as a matter of fact, Teddy tried—and failed, I might add—to cast a Silence Charm on me three to five times)

But, despite all this, I only vaguely had an idea of who'd played in the last Quidditch World Cup, and I'd never even _heard _of Puddlemere United. And the only times I'd heard of 'Oliver Wood' were when I heard Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry discussing what Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione referred to as "the glory days". (Evidently, men are always trying to relive these times by the time that they have finally settled down enough to have kids. If that's true, I don't think I _ever _want to get married.) Anyway, 'Oliver Wood' had played Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, or had been Captain, or something like that.

"OH NO WAY!" Will brought me out of my little reverie. "What?" I replied anxiously; had we missed Hogwarts, and would we now be forced to go all the way back to London because we hadn't gotten out of our compartment on time? "Check it out!" He pointed to a moving photograph of this week's featured Quidditch team. "It's the Tutshill Tornados!" we proclaimed at precisely the same moment.

Will seemed surprised that I knew who the Tutshill Tornados were. I briefly wondered whether he was secretly a Legilimens and had caught my lie about knowing who the sam-heck Puddlemere United was supposed to be. "You're a Tornado fan, too?" he demanded excitedly—if a bit edgily, as though this were the question which determined whether or not I was his soulmate.

I looked at him like he had just told me he was really a Muggle and yet had somehow infiltrated the Hogwarts Express. "Too?" The word had caught me off guard. He was clearly implying he was a Tornado supporter. "No." I was surprised by how calm my voice sounded. It was so calm, in fact, that it _might have_ sounded a bit cold. "Actually, I support the Cannons."

Much to my utter shock—and relief, too, I suppose—Will burst out laughing. "A-ha-ha! Darn! And I was so sure I'd _finally _found another Tornado fanatic! Well, what is it that Muggles say? "Up and adam", and all that!" "Um...n-not to sound _stupid_, or anything, I-I mean, it's really great you're taking this so lightly—some fans can get really carried away—but, erm...what's so—?" "What's so funny?" Again, wondering if he was perhaps a Legilimens, he answered me—still with an unbelievably silly grin on his face.

"Well, actually, believe it or not, I really do_ know _these people, and none of them—even my own sister—supports the Tornados. So, honestly, it would've been really nice to know there was _one _person at Hogwarts who _did_ like them. I mean, they start doing a _little bad _in the league, and fwoosh, there all their so-called fans go, right off the broomstick and out the door. But, anyway, before I get carried away—" This time I was the one who laughed. ("Hahaha! Hee-hee!") "I think you're a bit too late for that. Stopping yourself from getting carried away, I mean."

He flashed another giant grin at me. "Heh-heh, well, like I was saying, they all support different teams—Mirabelle, for instance, has been swearing allegiance to the Wigtown Wanderers since we were like, I dunno, six? And then there's Corina—" he gave a little head nod towards her, "And she's been a Holyhead Harpies fan, since, before we were born, I think." Giving another nod towards Margaret, he continued, "As for Margaret—correct me if I'm wrong—but she's been going back and forth between the Falmouth Falcons and the Fitchburg Finches for at least as long as Kingsley Shacklebolt's been Minister of Magic. Though, o' course, if they're ever pitted against each other—and they very rarely are—she'll support the Falcons. Supposedly because they're the English team, you know, and she's all swearing that given a choice, she'd of course choose her own country over a bunch of Americans. America, yeah, that's the country they're from, now I think on it, but I reckon y'knew that." he ammended jovially.

Oddly enough, I really _had_ known that. However, grammar freak that I was, it was my instant response to correct him. "_English_ is a language. _British_ is a nationality. But I reckon y'knew that." I added, somewhat mockingly.

Completely out of the blue, the girl called Margaret (who'd been religiously perusing the _Prophet_ up till then), began laughing. And then chortling. And then guffawing. "Ha-ha-ha-Has...Has anyone...ever...t-told you..." (she paused for continued laughter every few words) "That....you should really...be a Slytherin...with that kind of...superior attitude?"

My face went tomato-red. Really, only tomatoes are ever supposed to be that color. _Slytherin _was the last House I wanted to be Sorted into. It'd be all my worst fears confirmed. That maybe...just maybe...I wasn't any better than a Nott...or even, dare I say it, a _Malfoy_...it'd be the height of dishonor. I'd disgrace my entire family so badly, there would be _no way_ I could ever go home again. I'd _really be_ disinherited if I made Slytherin, when my entire family—the whole of the Weasley clan _plus _Teddy—were Gryffindors...Again, I didn't even want to consider it as an option. Making Slytherin was completely _out. of. the. question. _I _had _to be in a different House—it no longer mattered which. I just knew that I could never live it down if I got Sorted into Slytherin. As I said before, I think I'd _die_ of shame.

"Victoire?" Will looked at me with a face full of concern that I somehow knew was genuine.

"Are you alright? You—You're lookin' a bit feverish..." If you asked me, he was the one who looked like he was about to barf up slugs. "I-I'm fine..." Total. lie. But, on the off-chance that he _wasn't_ a Legilimens, maybe, just _maybe_ I could get away with this little white lie. After all, it was _technically_ true...Physically speaking, I was completely fine. Mentally? A bit shaken, I'll admit.

"Er—um...I'm just a bit tired. Think I'll get in some rest...y'know, it's gonna be a long journey, and all..." I curled up on the seat, hoping the additional acting would perhaps bridge the terribly feeble lie. "Oh—Okay." he replied a bit shakily. "I'll, uh, wake you up when we get there." I said nothing, but just kept incredibly still.

Will kept glancing back and forth from me to _Which Broomstick? _for a good several minutes, (as though to make sure I was still breathing) when finally, he returned to his magazine for good.

As it turned out, I had been _exhausted_ without even realizing it. I fell asleep in record time, and by the time I awoke we were at Hogsmeade.

"Firs' years o'er here, firs' years..." A bearded man wearing a shabby coat stood at the front of the large crowd of first years. "Four to a boat, four to a boat..." he croaked.

Corina, Mirabelle, Will and I were situated in a boat, and I heard the man saying: "What? There's no'more boats?" He looked around to see that indeed, they were all full. "Com'on, loo's like you'll be taking one'a the carriages..."

The four of us craned our necks to see who was getting to ride in the carriages, and we caught a brief glimpse of Margaret, and—to my disbelief—Teddy, alongside the two boys who'd ambushed us when we'd first boarded the train.

I had just started my attempt to fathom what-on-earth Teddy would be doing _sitting_ with those two, when Will started up about Quidditch again, and Mirabelle asked me if I wanted to take a quiz in _Witch Weekly. _I replied that I didn't really read _Witch Weekly_, and looked back at the carriage, hoping to confirm what I'd seen, but the doors had been closed, and I could no longer see inside.

* * *

The man—I'd learned his name was Hagrid—had led us inside, and now, we were all in line in alphabetical order, waiting to be Sorted. I saw Teddy at the Gryffindor table still sitting next to that miserable wanker from the train. _Why _is he sitting _with him? _My brain was working furiously to calculate an answer, but unfortunately, I was obligated to pay _some _attention to the Sorting, seeing as at one point I myself would actually have to go up there.

Corina was one of the first ones. She was right after "Cookarsdin, Sebastian". "Corner, Corina." Professor Macmillan called. The Sorting Hat was placed on her head, "RAVENCLAW!" was called, and it was another several kids until I recognized another from the compartment.

"Goldstein, Mirabelle." The girl who'd been reading _Witch Weekly _stepped on stage. The Sorting Hat seemed a bit confused, like it hadn't been expecting her to be next, and then finally came to the conclusion that yes, she was next, and shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!"

She sauntered over to the Hufflepuff table, and Will was called next. Almost as soon as the Sorting Hat touched his head, "GRYFFINDOR!" was announced, to another loud round of cheering. Honestly, it's a wonder I didn't go deaf from the noise of it all.

A few kids later, "Smith, Margaret" was sitting on the stool. 'That not-so-nice girl from the compartment who got to ride with Teddy on her way here' was what my brain identified her as. It wasn't much of a surprise to hear "SLYTHERIN!" being designated as her House.

Finally, my own name, "Weasley, Victoire" was called. _Another Weasley...hmm...how many of there _are_ you? Nevertheless, Nevertheless....hmm...You're resourceful, you could do well in Slytherin...Yes, you're a leader, too....never the follower..._**Anywhere but Slytherin. Please. **_**Anywhere**_** but there. **_Heh-heh...Are you sure you're not a Potter? Not Slytherin...? But you could do so well..._**Anywhere. Anywhere but there. **_Anywhere...? Well...you do have some of the right qualities for...a Gryffindor..._

My heart leapt. 'Yes, yes, that's exactly what I want!' the back of my conscious mind was saying; proclaiming. _However..._And the stupid Sorting Hat crushed all my hopes and dreams. _The House that's _really _best suited to you would be..._"RAVENCLAW!"

And we're back to being disinherited. Ravenclaw? _Ravenclaw? _Even as I was heading over there, I couldn't believe it. Alright, so, true, it wasn't _Slytherin._ But _Ravenclaw? _Why not Gryffindor, or Hufflepuff, at least? Maybe I should've been a bit more specific?

I mean, sure, on the bright side, I _did _already have a friend there, thanks to the horribly _long _ride here, but that wasn't really all that comforting at the moment.

As the last student (Zabini, Karla) was made a Slytherin, the Sorting ended.

* * *

Trying not to think too hard on the matter—I was on the verge of _praying _not to be disinherited—I followed our four Ravenclaw prefects to the Ravenclaw common room without comment. (no matter how much Corina attempted to start up a conversation with me) I figured that for tonight, it would be best just to go to bed.

Suddenly, the knocker on the door spoke. "Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at midday on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?" I answered without even thinking about it. "Humans—we crawl on all fours as a baby, then we walk on two feet as an adult, and finally, we hobble along with a cane in old age."

Corina, a few kids I didn't know, and even the prefects were looking at me with astonished faces, as though a first-year shouldn't have been able to answer that. "What?" I put my hands out in a 'what-did-I-do' sort of gesture, while the knocker replied: "Well-reasoned", and the door swung open.

This year was not off to a good start. But then again, when you're a part of the Weasley/Potter clan, things are rarely ever easy.

* * *

The first lesson of the morning was Flying. Since Madam Hooch still hadn't returned from her trip to Ireland, "Madam" Arya Lunadora—former Hufflepuff prefect and current Head Girl—would be teaching in her place until she returned. (and she had temporarily dropped one of her optive classes in order to be able to do so)

"So, first years. _Stop waving your arm in the air!_" she addressed some random student, and then returned her attention to the full class, "We'll introduce ourselves first, _then _fly. Understood?" It seemed to me as though she'd been refering to that same poor kid the entire time, but we all nodded our heads.

We went around in a circle, starting with me. "Victoire Weasley." Next was Corina, Will, some Jacob guy who was also in Gryffindor, Margaret, three or four more others, Mirabelle, and a bunch of people whose names I forgot no sooner than I'd heard them.

Madam Lunadora told us to simply call our brooms from the ground, and what do you know? It worked. Corina, Mirabelle, and I were on broomsticks almost instantly, though I noticed Will and Margaret were having a bit more trouble. So was that Jacob guy, come to think.

Flying around a bit, I came to realize how..._slow _the brooms were. I suppose Madam Lunadora was scared that if she started us off with brooms that were too fast, we'd all fall off or something. Of course, if the broom _is too flipping slow, _couldn't that also endanger us?

I swear, I've seen _house-elves run _faster than our broomsticks were going. Just as I was about to speak up, Margaret loudly inquired: "Just _what kind of brooms __are_ these?"

Madam Lunadora just raised her eyebrows at this rudely-phrased question. "Why, they're Shooting Stars, of course. What, did you think we'd be starting _first years_ out on Firebolts?" She said "first years" like it was a form of handicap. I felt extremely insulted.

I mean, _Shooting Stars? Really? _Of all the out-of-date brooms she could've made us practice on, she gives us _Shooting Stars?_ Seriously, even Dad let me ride his old Comet when Teddy and I were bored and wanted something to do. (we used to hold races to see who could catch a (make-do) Snitch faster—we'd enchant a wad of gum, and fly after it, in other words)

But, granted that I was a Weasley, I wasn't about to be so easily deterred. I pushed the stupid broom to go as fast as it could; which, okay, was really _less _than a quarter kilometre an hour, but I still_ tried_, anyway.

"Well, look at that!" Madam Lunadora exclaimed. I looked around for what she could be talking about, only to see everyone staring at me. "Miss Weasley doesn't seem to have a _problem_ using a Shooting Star!" "Excusez moi?" I spoke in my second language without thinking. That being what Mum always said when she was confused, it seemed to have come into my vocabulary unknowingly.

"Wow!" Will was looking at me like I'd just created a counter-curse to the _Avada Kedavra. _What goes through that boy's head..."Victoire! That's amazing! How're you doing that?" He shouted into the silence. "Huh? What—" "I thought for sure Shooting Stars were a lot slower than that! I mean, for instance, their description in _Which Broomstick? _says that they're—" but I didn't hear the rest of what Will said. The only thing I noticed apart from how surprisingly fast I was going, was how suddenly _tired _I was.

I could hear Mum singing a lullaby to Dominique, and then...nothing.

* * *

When I awoke, I was in the hospital wing. I sat bolt upright in my bed, not trying to remember how or why I was there, but simply thinking that I _must _be late for some class or other. I threw the covers aside, jumped out of bed, and landed smoothly on my feet.

_Crack! _My foot was burning. It felt like I had stepped into a fire before putting in Floo Powder. In less than a second, I was leaning on the bed for support. "Oh, no you don't....Get back in the bed, Miss Weasley..." Madam Pomfrey had come out from behind a curtain, and I was forced to accept that—whatever had happened—I was indeed injured and I needed to sit and rest my foot.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Why is it always you..." "Huh?" As far as I was aware, this was my first trip to the hospital wing. "Weasleys, honestly....Even without He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you're _still _spending half your time in the hospital wing..." I laughed; clearly, members of the Weasley clan had been here _many times_ before I came along.

Quickly, my laughter turned to wheezing, then gagging and chocking. Before I knew what hit me, I was on my knees, one hand at my neck, gasping for air.

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand, and I could breathe again. "What...was....that?" I said between breaths.

"Oh...You had a nasty fall from your broomstick, I'm afraid. Honestly...teaching first-years on _Shooting Stars? _It's a wonder you were the only one..." "What do you mean?" Shooting Stars were slow and all, but I didn't see why I wouldn't be the only one to fall off.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in an annoyed fashion. "Shooting Stars are so slow as compared to newer brooms...I'm surprised more of you didn't get frustrated with only being able to go so far at a time...Most of your parents were Quidditch players, I daresay...flying's in your blood, of course you'd want to go faster than a millimetre a minute..." It didn't sound as though she was only referring to the Weasley clan anymore. I had a gut feeling that she was refering to the entire class. Was Quidditch really so popular a sport?

"And then, she wraps up the class by having them play Quodpot! Really! Like I was saying, most of your families are comprised of once-House Quidditch players, and she makes you play _Quodpot_? Insanity, insanity, that's what it is! Quodpot! With _first years!_ How outrageous! There's three others in here; look like they've been burnt by a dragon! It's _luck _that you were the only one who sustained serious injuries! By Dumbledore's grave, I don't know what that Lunadora was _thinking_!"

I gathered that I had blacked out before they started Quodpot, but I wasn't really sure of anything else yet. "Um...Madam Pomfrey...what happened to me? Why am I in the hospital wing?" She seemed to calm down as I brought her back to reality. "Ah...oh, Miss Weasley..." she said my name as though she hadn't known I was there. "As it is...you became so frustrated with the slow speed of your Shooting Star, that in order to make it go faster, you actually transferred some of your own magic to it...The resulting fatigue caused you to black out shortly afterwards, and you fell off your broom from a good fifteen or sixteen feet in the air. You cracked your neck...deep puncture wounds...undoubtedly from where your broomstick was severed when you made contact with the ground...and you sprained your ankle as well...cuts all about your face...dreadful..."

* * *

I was in there for the duration of my next three classes, and by the time I got out, Defense Against the Dark Arts was already five minutes in. "Sorry I'm late!" I called, entering the classroom.

Professor Creevey looked up, and said: "Oh, Miss Weasley...how nice of you to join us. Now, as I was saying, the Disarming Charm is one that all first-years should know, as it is one of the basics of defense..." She drawled on and on for nearly forty minutes before she finally split us up into pairs, and let us practice it.

I was paired with Will Goldstein. (oh but of course) "Expelliarmus!" He shouted. My wand gave a little jerk in my hand, but other than that it didn't do much.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" I shouted back. Will's wand flew out of his hand, and so did the wands of the next fifteen or so kids behind him. Will himself had been thrown backwards onto the stone floor, and was now lying sprawled across the ground in an alarming fashion. "Uh! Uh! Will! Are you alright?" I bent over and reached out my hand to him.

He was grinning like an idiot. For a split-second, I thought he'd gone loopy, but then he was on his feet, exclaiming that I was "the most extraordinary witch" he'd ever met, and asking if I knew that.

Embarrassed, it was all I could manage to say: "Heh-heh...A little bit too much force there, huh?"

* * *

Our next class was Charms. Professor Goldstein was definitely Will and Mirabelle's father, whatever they said—they looked too much like him for this to be untrue.

After spending an hour or so practicing the Levitation Charm (_Wingardium Leviosa_), we were all aching away for lunch.

I sat with Corina at the Ravenclaw table, copying her—unbelievably detailed—notes for the classes I'd missed. (History of Magic, Herbology, and Transfiguration)

I heard footsteps, and then someone yawned behind me. "So...Is studying all you Ravenclaws do?" A voice asked me. I whipped around, my hair shifting Corina's notes into disarray.

"Teddy!" Corina looked over her shoulder, with an expression as though she had been expecting a literal bear to be right behind us. "Where'd you come from?" she demanded.

Teddy flashed her one his "I'm-up-to-no-good" grins. "Hehheh...History of Magic." Corina crossed her arms. "Is there a reason you're smirking like that? I can't really see a _Gryffindor _enjoying one of Professor Binns' lessons. Unless, of course, they've been up to mischief...That's what it is, isn't it?"

"Better not to ask, or they might try and get us involved." I advised. "What makes you say that? Margaret says they'd be too afraid of the teachers to try and string along a couple of first years into _anything_. I'm not afraid of some _Gryffindors_ just because they decided to pick _today_ to interrupt our studying." "You should be. You don't know Teddy like I do. I've seen him try'n get _six year olds _involved in his schemes." Corina waved off the comment like it was a pesky fly. "Oh, rubbish! They're only secon—" "_They're third years!_" I shouted at her. "But Margaret said—" "_Margaret was _wrong_, wasn't she?_"

I was bursting with fury at Margaret for daring to be so blasphemic as to claim she knew _anything _about Teddy. I wanted to jinx the stupid Slytherin right then and there. It was then that I noticed that Teddy was flanked by the same two guys who'd teased us on the Hogwarts Express.

Teddy, apparently having noticed my sudden expression of fury—and evidently completely ignoring the shouting match between me and Corina—decided that now would be a good time to tell me what the hell he was doing with a couple of arseholes following him everywhere. "Oh, excuse me, I forgot, introductions. Vicky, this is Geoffrey Thomas," he gestured to the Gryffindor on his left, "And this," he gestured to the Hufflepuff at his right, "Is Trevor Boot. Trevor, Geoffrey, this is Vicky Weasley, and—?"

He looked at me inquiringly. "_Corina Corner._" I said through gritted teeth. Teddy never, _ever _called me "Vicky". At least not that I was aware of. He appeared to notice my mood swing. "Vicky? What's wrong? You look like you're about to explo—" I screamed in frustration. "STOP-CALLING-ME-THAT! MY-NAME-IS-VIC-TOI-RE! _Victoire, Victoire, Victoire!_" And I stopped shouting in English right that second.

I was screaming; yelling at the top of my lungs in French. I was speaking so rapidly, that my words began to merge together in the effort to get them out, and I wasn't even half-sure that Teddy had understood one-sixteenth of everything I'd said.

I was breathing heavily after having shouted without drawing breath for about three minutes straight. Teddy looked as though he'd been Stunned.

The Great Hall had gone silent. Feeling everyone's eyes on us, Corina shuffled her feet under the table. Recovering himself, Teddy said: "C-Come on guys, I think there's still some shepherd pie left..." Trevor and Geoffrey followed his lead, walking down the length of the Ravenclaw table, and then turning left towards the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables.

With that settled, the surrounding chatter bustled up again, and all three boys took seat at their respective tables. "Well," Corina started up, evidently having regained her wits, "That. Was Terrible." And with that, neither she nor anyone else said another thing on the subject.

* * *

With the exception of Madam Lunadora letting us fly on Swiftsticks, Silver Arrows, and Cleansweeps during the lessons that followed (and a few rows with Margaret Smith), nothing really eventful happened during the rest of our first year.

But when you're a part of the Weasley/Potter clan, things never stay mundane for long.


	2. Roxanne Weasley, Exposition, and Drabble

Well, hello. As it says in the description, this is a little one-shot drabble that I wrote during a stroke of inspiration. Enjoy. R&R.

**Disclaimer: **Considering that this is written by _Cassidy Sapphire _and **_not _**the amazing creator of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling, I think it is safe to say that I do not, by any means, own Harry Potter. So sorry to disappoint you. Carry on.

* * *

**Roxanne POV **

Normality? In this family? Now that's asking a bit much.

My name is Roxanne Weasley. Exactly the ninth eldest of the Weasley grandchildren. I prefer my full name; I don't like diminutives like "Rox" and "Roxy". (however, my brother, Fred, simply does not seem to comprehend this)

Like most of my family, I am in Gryffindor, and as of last year, have made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I play as one of two of the Outside Chasers. My parents are very proud.

I am good friends with my cousins Rose and Albus, and I am (usually) capable of getting along with my brother as well. Family aside, I've also befriended the Scamander twins, who, as it is, are practically family anyway.

I get straight A's, which sometimes makes me the target of friendly ridicule amongst the cousins. As a matter of fact, I believe the only person who gets better grades than I do is Rose, who has O's and E's besides. And—as is common knowledge throughout the campus of Hogwarts, as well as a secret kept between all Weasley grandchildren—the only person who ever tops Rose in exams (if only in a couple subjects or so) is Scorpius Malfoy.

The second we're off campus though, we are forbidden to mention it. (as we all fear Rose would find something perfectly dreadful to do to us if we dared—especially in front of her father, who made quite an infamous scene about her not letting her grades fall short of his)

There is an age-long rivalry between the Potter/Weasleys and the Malfoys, as is well known. Even though we were still first-years, we'd already made our views quite established, and there was an unspoken treaty between the nine of us Potter/Weasleys and Scorpius Malfoy: you don't mess with us, and we won't mess with you.

It all started on the day of our Sorting. Uncle Ron had made his jokes, Uncle Percy had given his lectures, and all our mothers had passed out their hugs and tear-felt good-byes.

James had been teasing Albus that he would get into Slytherin; I'd been recieving similar treatment from Fred. And since Louis hadn't a younger sibling of his own to torment, he'd taken up Rose as a make-do younger sister and followed suit.

"You're really determined to have at least _one _cousin who's in Slytherin, aren't you?" Rose had spat out, no doubt quite tired of Louis' behaviour. "Well, it's not going to happen!" She continued cheekily, "Not in _our_ year, anyway!" "Oh, yeah? And what makes you so sure?" Louis quipped. Rose took up her end of the conversation again, with more fire than was perhaps necessary.

"Oh, s'il vous plait! Albus, Roxanne and I _would never_ get Sorted into _Slytherin!_ And if you're so stuck on it, then why don't you borrow Mum's Time Turner, travel to the near future, and fascinate us with some tall tale about how we all end up in _the bloody serpent's lair_!"

I almost laughed at that one. "'Bloody serpent's lair'? She on some sort of medication?" Fred— who, honestly, has the uncanny ability to sneak up on you silent as a ninja—commented, standing to my right. "When'd you get there?" I asked. His being able to do that was something I'd never quite gotten used to. "I've been here the entire time." "Come off it!" I said, hitting my brother lightly on the arm. He only momentarily flinched, as if to prove that while he felt the pain, he was not going to acknowledge it.

Around a few minutes later, we had all safely boarded onto the Hogwarts Express. James, Fred, Louis, and their first-year friends, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander—I met them briefly at one of our family's joint Christmas parties—were all seated in one compartment, discussing who-knows-what. Probably up to mischief. Better to stay out of it and let our Head Girl, Victoire, deal with it at length.

I myself ended up sitting with Molly—who was then a third-year—alongside Albus and Rose. I couldn't believe Albus' illogical fear that he would be Sorted into Slytherin just as the older guys had said. It was utter rubbish, but even Rose appeared to be slightly bothered by the prospect of it. "Oh, stop your worrying! I swear! Albus, Rose! By the time you two calm down, _we'll _be grandparents! No matter _what _those prats said, _none of us _is gettin' Sorted into Slytherin! You said so yourself, Rose! _Honestly! _You two are as depressing as a couple o' dementors! Come off it! _We're going to Hogwarts_, for bloody crying out loud! This is no time for puppy-dog faces! CHEER UP!"

Rose seemed on the verge of cracking a smile at my oh-so-inspiring speech. "We know! We know!" She replied; the familiar grin making its return to her previously more dismal features.

Time seemed to fly by, and I don't even know how long I was asleep before waking up again. Kids were coming in and out of their compartments; more and more changing into their Hogwarts robes—many already-Sorted children donning their House colors—as we got nearer to the school.

Not even half a mile from the place, I finally changed into my own robes, now matching my cousins and everyone else on the train. "Roxanne! Roxanne!" Rose came running out of our compartment, her eyes shining with excitement. "We're here! We're really here!" The smile on her face seemed to stretch wider than the course of the universe. "Come _on_, Albus! We're finally here! Look, look!" She said, turning to look back at me as though to make sure I was paying attention. "There're the boats! Come on!"

I swear. This was the most excited I'd seen Rose for the whole of our lives. "Six to a boat, com'on." That was Hagrid, who—despite his advanced years—was still the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds.

That was the first time I—or any Weasley grandchild in his year—met Scorpius Malfoy. He was a pale-haired, cold-eyed (and from my point of view—short), young boy of eleven years. He didn't seem particularly keen on speaking to any of us, so at the time, we couldn't very well determine if his voice was as harsh and bitter as his looks.

However, to lighten the mood, the Scamander boys—the ones who'd (somewhat graciously, I'll admit) shared a compartment with James, Fred and Louis—were also in the boat. They had sandy-colored hair, brown eyes, and looked quite like their father in comparison to their mother. (who just-so-happened to be a celebrated Magizooligist as well as family friend—Luna Scamander; formerly Lovegood)

None of us spoke, but the Scamanders gave us kind—if perhaps apologetic—looks, as though they felt personally responsible for Scorpius being on the boat with us.

It was a relief when the ride was over, and we were emitted into the Hogwarts grounds; allowed to wander away from Scorpius and merge together with the large crowd of fellow first-years.

Entering the Great Hall, we saw the four House tables, filling us all up to the brim with anticipation. Professor Corner (the headmaster) called for silence, and we all held our breath as the long line of first-years slowly moved forward.

One by one, first-years were Sorted into their respective Houses, and all the while, we got nearer and nearer to the front of the line. "Malfoy, Scorpius." Professor Macmillan (deputy headmaster) called from the stage, as the previous child made his way to the Hufflepuff table, following another loud round of cheering.

One, two, three seconds after the Sorting Hat had touched his head, and it shouted "SLYTHERIN!" No surprise there. His entire family was comprised of Slytherins. It'd have been a bigger shock had the Hat called out "Gryffindor" instead. (or any other House, for that matter)

I noticed Victoire and James sitting expectantly at the Ravenclaw table. So far, they'd been the only Ravenclaws in the family, and everyone knew that they—James especially, as it was Victoire's final year—were hoping that perhaps one of us would make it into their House this year. (though of course, even if we didn't, there was still always Lucy, Lily and Hugo to worry about in the coming years)

"Scamander, Lorcan." One of the twins from the boat walked up onto the stage, sat down, and calmly allowed the Sorting Hat to be placed on his head. A few moments later, "HUFFLEPUFF!" was shouted, and as I glanced over, I saw Dominique—smiling and nodding as though she'd planned this moment herself—and Louis, clapping happily at the news of yet another House member.

"Scamander, Lysander." Lorcan's twin sat upon the chair which his brother had vacated not more than seconds before, and again, the Sorting Hat was placed on a head. "RAVENCLAW!" it bellowed, and then again came fierce whistling and whooping and just general merriment at having another somebody join their House.

"Weasley, Rose." It was my cousin this time. Albus looked up from the Gryffindor table hopefully; he'd been Sorted only a short while before. Several minutes passed, and it seemed that the Sorting Hat was having trouble deciding which House to place Rose in.

Just as it seemed that Professor Macmillan was about to suggest that we go ahead and move on to the next person, the Hat proclaimed "HUFFLEPUFF!" and that was that.

Finally it was my turn. "Weasley, Roxanne." _Another Weasley? _I was startled by the realization that I could hear the Sorting Hat's "voice" inside my head; not unlike my own thoughts. It wasn't that I hadn't known, it was simply that it happened so suddenly that I was caught off-guard. _You are all particularly...difficult...to place. Hmm....quite loyal, but Hufflepuff isn't the place for you. Ambitious...but no, you're not the right sort for a Slytherin. Creativity is abundant in you...yes, I can see that...but, overall...quite a lot of nerve....yes, you're like your brother....the right place for you would be...._"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat announced; and for some reason, I felt relieved.

Fred and Albus cheered the loudest; similar to Dominique, I thought their expressions implied that my being Sorted into Gryffindor was somehow thanks to them and their sheer genius. Molly nodded kindly, as though she felt that I wouldn't be fully welcomed until she gave sign of her approval.

Some twenty or thirty more kids were Sorted, and then at last, Professor Macmillan announced that we were to follow our Head of House to our common rooms. (and that were expected to be in bed and well asleep by nine-thirty)

Quickly, four teachers (only to be named upon inquiry) headed to the front of the four House groupings.

Aided by Fred, I was able to learn most of the teachers' names before sundown. Hufflepuff Head of House and Transfiguration teacher, was Professor Bones. Potions instructor and Head of House for Slytherin was Professor Parkinson. (both Molly and Fred agreed that Albus and I should steer clear of her as much as possible) And then there was Professor Goldstein (Charms Master), who was Head of House for Ravenclaw, and Professor Longbottom, the Herbology teacher (whom we already knew due to him being a family friend), was the Head of House for Gryffindor.

Following Professor Longbottom, Fred, Albus, Molly and I (as well as all the other Gryffindors) headed out of the Great Hall and to the moving stairwells.

When we'd come down a sizable hall, we stopped in front of a portrait of a fat lady. Or, perhaps more precisely, _the _Fat Lady. "Password." Professor Longbottom said something unintelligible, and a hole surfaced in the middle of the portrait. "That's right, there you go, all of you in". He said briskly, as though if we didn't get into the common room fast enough, we'd all start sprouting warts and chicken feathers.

With a slight sense of foreboding, I stepped (or ducked, rather) through the portrait hole, into the Gryffindor common room, and began my first year.


End file.
